2004-01-26

On Saturday I got to see a car crash, which was great. I’m a big fan of car crashes. It’s the best entertainment available here in the Canadian outback; you know, when we’re not busy tobogganing or moose-tipping or what-have-you.

This was a gooder, too: I was walking and heard an ambulance coming, so I scooted through the intersection to get out of the way. Just when I’d cleared it, I heard the familiar “SMACK-screech-HOOONNNNNNK” sound of vehicular carnage. I turned around to find that some halfwit woman had decided that the approaching siren was obviously not directed at her, and had ploughed full-speed into the intersection, resulting in being hit by the ambulance and spun 360%. Rock on! That’s good crashing!

I was appropriately delighted at the “injured by an ambulance” irony: my enthusiasm was only slightly dampened by the sight of the woman emerging intact from her car. I stood and gawked for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether I qualified as a witness since I’d had my back turned. After exchanging a bemused shrug with a fellow pedestrian, I continued on my way, because if I’d stuck around to provide the police with my completely unhelpful version of events they’d have had to send another ambulance to collect me at the end of it – dude, it be COLD – and also, I was bored by that point. Is it breaking the law for a witness to leave the scene of an accident? I hope so, because my Punk Rock points are at an all-time low. I’m reduced to jaywalking to up my cred these days. If this trend continues, I’ll have to take a pair of scissors and visit the mattress section of my local department store, if you know what I’m saying. And I think you do.